So Below So Above
by Adi Who is Also Mou
Summary: Alternate to As Above As Below. What if Molly got turned into a three-year-old? Oh Sherlock. What have you done now?
1. Chapter 1

So Below So Above

_A/N (please read!): This isn't the intended sequel. Just something I wrote as a challenge and for fun. There will be a sequel (soon!) but I hope you guys read this one as well! Also, this first chapter is un-betaed. I hope you don't mind, Tiffany, but I just needed to test the waters a bit before annoying you with my stuff :P_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had long since decided that John Watson was a singularly useful person. Not many people could be willing to dash off at a moment's notice to places unknown, and get involved into situations so dangerous it was actually rather ridiculous.

Even less people would be willing to shoot a man dead without any qualms; as long as it was proven that the man being shot at deserved to die.

No, John Watson was one in a million and Sherlock Holmes was actually indebted to the man more than he was ready to admit. Though Sherlock's impressive brain was only thinking rather unfriendly thoughts about the good Doctor as he ducked underneath the lab table, the shaking pathologist clutching to his coat as if it was her only lifeline.

Why did he ask Molly to accompany him again? Oh right. John had run off with his insipid girlfriend again and Lestrade was already working overtime. Molly had been the only option, and he rather liked having someone to talk aloud to, even if that someone was currently in the midst of a panic attack.

"Hush, Molly, they'll hear us," he snapped. "Sniveling never stopped any bullet."

Molly glowered at him through bloodshot eyes; an impressive attempt for anyone in her position. Hell, Molly never usually glowered at anyone, let alone Sherlock.

"I don't know why you feel the need to stick your nose into stupid situations." Molly retorted, "Now they are shooting some weird liquid that could be poisonous at us. I think I'm entitled to a little 'snivel'."

A glob of liquid projectile soared over their line of vision and hit the wall opposite to them.

"Damn," Sherlock cursed, "They found us. C'mon!" He grabbed Molly's wrist and dragged her out of their hiding place and ran through the lab, Molly skidding a few places but managing to retain her grip on Sherlock's arm. Something splashed on the wall a few paces behind them, and Molly could hear shouting and curses.

Sherlock was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear. Funny, how in her lab, not so different than this one, his voice could be heard over even her own thoughts. Now…this felt so wrong.

Molly made a mental note never to accompany Sherlock on any other such 'outings.'

And that was when a very hot splash of something gel-like hit her square on the back and Molly Hooper knew no more.

* * *

John Watson was very experienced in terms of what Sherlock would bring back home after every case, or _how_ he would come home every night. But nothing could have prepared him for what Sherlock brought back home this time (No, not even the time Sherlock had brought back a basket of kittens and claimed that he needed to keep each and every one.)

John looked at the young girl, no more than two or three years of age, wrapped up tight in Sherlock's Belstaff and looking up at him with brown doe eyes and then decided to bury her face back into Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock hefted her into a more comfortable position in his arms and looked back at John coolly, "Yes?"

"That. That thing in your arms. Where did you get that?" John spluttered, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Obviously, this is a girl, John. I didn't steal her, if that's what you think."

"No shit, Sherlock. But what is she doing in your arms? And wearing nothing but your coat, apparently."

"Would you mind carrying her for a bit? My arms are going numb."

And without further ado, Sherlock handed John the girl and she went to him with good grace, smiling timidly up at John.

"Hi, pretty lady," John said kindly, and the girl giggled, "What are you doing with mean old Sherlock? Where's your mum?"

The girl's eyes widened as if she never really fathomed why she was with Sherlock. Raising her head up, she answered defiantly, "Sher…Sherlock not mean."

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's bedroom door, where the detective had disappeared into, "Good to see you have already brainwashed this one. Is she like…one of your Homeless Network?"

Sherlock shouted something incomprehensible and John looked back at the girl, "What's you name, love?"

"Molly," the girl said proudly. "Molly 'ooper."

Well…fuck.

"Holmes...get out here this instant-" John started saying in dangerous tones, momentarily forgetting the girl in his arms until she whimpered in fright, "Aw, sorry, sweetheart-Molly. I'm sorry, Molly. Hush, now, don't cry."

John was gently patting the girl on her head when Sherlock came out, wear those disgusting pajamas that looked as if he had had them for ten years.

"John, tea." Sherlock said simply, before flopping down onto the sofa in a tangle of limbs.

John lowered the girl who was supposed to be Molly (of course it couldn't be! She had to be Sherlock's kid…yeah, that made sense. Maybe _Molly, their Molly-_) into his armchair and then went to glower in front of the sprawling mess that was his best friend, "What exactly does she mean, _Holmes_, by her name being Molly? She can't really be-"

"I take it, by the use of my surname, that you jumping to wrong conclusions. She isn't my daughter." Sherlock said, making a grab for the newspaper lying on the coffee table and raising it so that his face was hidden.

'Molly' giggled.

"Then….I take it she's Mo-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, John couldn't see it, per se, but he had been around Sherlock long enough to pick it up just by the tone of his voice, "No, John, she isn't Molly's either."

"Then who exactly-"

"She is exactly," Sherlock stated calmly, "Exactly who she says she is. Molly Hooper."

"No, wait…what-You are kidding right? Yeah, kidding of course…haha-hnng…"

"John?" Molly squealed from the sofa, drawing out the 'o' in a curious manner, "You okay?"

If Sherlock hadn't decided to hide behind the newspaper, he could have possibly caught the ex-army doctor when he went crashing down right onto the coffee table in a dead faint.

* * *

_A/N: I wasn't sure about posting this. Originally intended as a one-shot, I just realized it needs another chapter, otherwise it would be so lengthy. Now, I'm sure you all will hate me for even thinking about writing this- but it was a challenge to myself and this came out as a result._

_I hope you like this at least a bit as much as you like As Above As Below, whose sequel is underway. A bit slow, but still underway._

_A very Happy Birthday to MorbidByDefault. This isn't exactly the fic I had in mind, but the other one is taking too much time. Sorry!_

_Lots of Love to A Pirate by Any other Name and NoveraDeMedeci, for being awesome friends._

_Anyways, love to you readers as well, and I hope you review!_

_-Adi x_

_P.s: Guys….I made a twiiter account (adiba_mou) Anybody interested in following me? None of my friends have twiiter ):_


	2. Chapter 2

So Below So Above

Chapter 2

* * *

"So, you turned my best friend into a three year old." Mary stated, glaring uncharacteristically at her fiancé, who was holding an ice-pack to the back of his head. Molly giggled from where she was perched on Mary's knee, now wearing a tiny 'Avengers' t-shirt and shorts that Mary had managed to scavenge from her nephew. "How-How is that even possible?"

John in turn glared at the detective still curled up on the sofa, face hidden in the cushions. "I think we all would like to know that."

Sherlock kicked the end arm of the sofa like the five year old he was. "I told you. We were in some laboratory and we got shot by some gel like substance and Molly de-aged. It should wear off in the morning."

"How can someone just _de-age_?" Mary exclaimed in disbelief, her fingers playing with Molly's brown locks.

"I take it it's some kind of new drug, for rejuvenating purposes," Sherlock replied, not realizing that he was confusing everyone in the room.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to have to call Mycroft in the morning, and he'll know what to do." Sherlock turned around violently, curling in on himself once more in the sofa and make a loud 'huffing' sound. John rolled his eyes. "You know I'm right, Sherlock."

"I'm 'ungry," Molly stated suddenly, looking up at Mary with those doe eye of hers.

Mary cooed instantly, "Aw, of course, baby. What would you-"

There was a loud rumble from the other side of the room. John snorted, "Sherlock, mate, when was the last time you ate?"

Sherlock gave the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Molly hopped off of Mary's lap and skipped over to him, and poked him in the back. "Sherly," she said in a high pitched whine, "You n'ed to eat!"

"My name is not Sherly," Sherlock snapped, while both John and Mary broke out into raucous giggles. "And I'm not hungry."

"Sherly," Molly said again, mouth set in a comically hard line. "You hafta eat."

"She's right, 'Sherly'," John managed to giggle out. "You have to eat. Keep up your strength."

Sherlock might have protested some more if his stomach hadn't decided to pick that moment to complain very loudly that it needed sustenance. He sighed and stood up. Molly latched onto his legs immediately. "Piggy ride, piggy ride!" She exclaimed joyously. Sherlock looked scandalized and John thought for a moment that he was going to shout at her.

"Molly, why don't I give you a piggy back ride?" John offered. Molly shook her head, arms still clasped around Sherlock's leg and beamed up at the detective.

"Sherly taller! And pretty!"

"Oh good grief," Mary said, burying her head in her hands, "She's still infatuated with him!"

John stared hard at Sherlock. The consulting detective wasn't very good with Molly when she was an adult, nowadays. Ever since he came back from his supposed 'death' there had been some sort of tension between the two. John came to the conclusion that something had happened during those three months they did not speak of. While adult Molly seemed to have been disillusioned in the process of those three months; three-year-old Molly seemed to have no qualms about the fact of making it known how much she was attracted to Sherlock.

John leaned back against the chair, waiting to see what Sherlock would do. "I'm not _pretty_." Sherlock said in a tone that would have made any toddler instantly recoil. Molly just glared up at him.

"Sherly made me little. Sherly gimme piggy back ride!"

John and Mary burst out laughing, John nearly choking on his own spit in the process. Sherlock looked horrified. "I beg your-"

"SHERLY! RIDE!" Molly stomped her foot, and John began to sense a tantrum coming on. He mentally thanked the fact that Mrs. Hudson was with her sister for the weekend.

Apparently Sherlock had sensed it to, because he swooped down and placed the girl on his shoulders. She squealed in delight and dug her fingers into his hair for a better grip.

Sherlock was not amused when Mary pulled out her mobile camera and took a snapshot.

* * *

Sherlock scowled as he fell flat on his bed, Molly instantly burrowing closer to him. Why did he have to have her in _his _bed? John had a perfectly good bed, hell, even the couch was a great option. But no, the wretched girl insisted on _his _bed, _him_ giving her 'piggy rides', _him _reading her atrocious bedtime stories which Mary had brought.

_Sherlock Holmes did not like reading bedtime stories. Sherlock Holmes did not like reading bedtime stories to young children. _ _Sherlock Holmes did not, on the pain of death, 'do the voices.'_

"I don't see why you didn't go with Mary. She is supposed to be your friend."

"You s'mell nice," Molly said in reply, suddenly climbing onto his chest and nestling there.

"We had a deal. You keep to your side of the bed, and I let you sleep here."

"Stop talking, Sherly. G'night." Sherlock could find no way to detangle the girl off of him. For a three-year-old, she had a surprising strong grip.

When Sherlock woke in the morning—he hadn't really slept, just dozed off in a haze sometimes—he realized that Molly hadn't changed back. He would have to call Mycroft now. There wasn't really anything for it; no matter how much he loathed the thought of calling in his brother. He noticed that he had curled around protectively around the girl, his arms around her and her still clinging to his t-shirt.

The door opened softly, and John poked his head in. "Aw, isn't this just a pretty picture, _Sherly?"_ John said snidely.

"Go away," Sherlock snapped, and it came out much louder and harsher than he meant to, because Molly immediately woke up and started sniffling. And then before either of the men could do anything, she burst out in a full fledged cry mode.

She twisted away from Sherlock, and John managed to catch her. "Daddy." She started blubbering, "I want daddy."

"Hush, hush," John soothed, carrying her out of the room. "How about a nice glass of milk?"

"Chocolate?" Molly sniffled out.

"Uh…yes, of course." Oh great, now he would have to break into Mrs. Hudson's flat. _Again._ "Why hasn't she changed back yet?" John called when he re-entered the kitchen after depositing Molly on the sofa. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock came in through the outer kitchen door, carrying a tin. "Here." He handed him the tin of cocoa powder, John staring at it dumbly.

"How did you know-?"

"When I woke up crying when I was younger," Sherlock said, uncharacteristically sheepish, "Mycroft would make me chocolate."

"Mycroft-?" John asked

"You heard me perfectly," Sherlock snapped. "I'm not saying it again."

John hid a smile, before becoming serious. "You should call him. He would know what to do." He heated up the milk.

"I already texted him. He should be here soon." Sherlock scowled as John handed him another glass of milk.

"Drink up," John said testily. "You didn't eat well last night."

When John left the kitchen and Sherlock could hear him talking to Molly, no doubt calming her down more, he stalked towards the sink, intent of dumping the ghastly substance down the drain. Or maybe he could use it to grow those bacteria again. Could there be some change in the rate of growth now that cocoa had been added-

"No Sherlock," came John's stern voice. "You _will_ drink that."

Sherlock pulled a face and downed the whole thing in two large swallows.

* * *

_A/N: The things I do for you guys. I had a major struck of 'what am I doing, I can't write, there are better people out there, I should stop writing' a few nights ago. Because everyone else is writing such serious, wonderful fics, and here I am writing crack. And continuing to write crack. Well, crack-ish._

_Okay, I'll stop being ungrateful now. Thank you for all your reviews, favs and follows-**lililoop, LunarianPrincess, magicstrikes, Deep-within-the-Labyrinth, Biffy316, katdemon1895, Lucy36,Rocking the Redhead, whytejigsaw, MadAsAHatterJayy, CompaniontoMisterHolmes, LittleMissMia123, SammyKatz, nhaquyen, lostmypen120, Beth-Tauri Chick, Empress Of Versace, patemalah21, Cumberbabe, MorbidByDefault, Lono, .Laye, BlackButterflyPrincess and the guests!**_

_Lots of love to my dear beta, **A Pirate By Any Other Name**. She gives brilliant pep talks and writes hilarious fics. Go read them._

_So…review? Please?_

_Love,_

_Adi xo_

_P.S: this will have a few more chapters, as some of you asked for it._

_**EDIT: Thank you for the encouraging comments, Zora Arian and Irma Arisa Laye. It's really heartwarming to know I make you all laugh. FUNNY STORIES FTW :D**_


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